Butterfly Wings
by gingerisourqueen
Summary: Kid!fic. Sherlock's mother once told him that butterflies can't see their wings. They never see how truly beautiful they are, but everyone else can. On Sherlock's first day of kindergarten, he meets Jim, the only boy who was ever able to see his wings.


A/N: So I had the bright idea of writing two Sherlock fics at the same time, I got around to publishing this one first but really it's the second one I've done. Just a slightly AU kid!fic in which Jim and Sherlock meet and become friends. Will most likely be multi-chaptered although I don't have anything else written out yet I have a rough idea of where I want it to go. Feedback is my motivation though so please, if you want more - let me know! Enjoy! x

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><p>It was a sunny day.<p>

The sky was a brilliant blue with the occasional tuft of white. The long grass rustled in the wind as it stretched across the open hills. Yellow butterflies with speckles of black danced playfully within its depths. Pink and white flowers dotted the green fields and bees buzzed merrily between them. In one of the many valleys was a small pond surrounded by cattails. Lily pads floated above the blue-green water and a frog jumped effortlessly into its murky depths. There was a wood not far off, the strong smell of pine drifted over to where a group of kindergarteners were huddled. A young woman with a short, black, pixie cut and sparkling blue eyes stood before them. She wore a warm red dress and an even warmer smile. Her cheeks went pink when she smiled, her cherry red lips stretched across her pearly white teeth as she beamed at her new class. The children shrieked with glee as she told them they would have half an hour to play before they would have to head back. They all ran off in different directions, the girls went to pick flowers and chase butterflies while the boys set about catching frogs and climbing trees.

Sherlock Holmes stood still.

Eventually, the teacher came over and knelt in front of him, putting her hands on his shoulders as she did so. There was a band of gold around the fourth finger on her left hand and her breath smelt of apples and nutmeg as she spoke. "Why don't you want to play with the others?" she asked. She was still smiling, but Sherlock could see the concern in her eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking past her, watching as a group of boys chased a rabbit out of the forest. "Who would want to play with me?" he said simply, kicking at the dirt before looking back up at her.

"Funny," she said, smiling for real now, "you're the second person to say that to me today." With that, she stood up and clasped his small hand in hers before leading him away from the others and to a tree he hadn't noticed before. It was a crab apple tree, covered in white blossoms and a couple green apples were already started to grow. The trunk of the tree was intricately woven in and around itself, making unexpected dips and turns at every corner. Sherlock loved it. Perched on one of the branches was another boy his age, he had messy brown hair and was currently hunched over, inspecting something Sherlock couldn't see. The boy looked over his shoulder when he heard them approaching, clasping his hands together in his lap. For a moment, his eyes met Sherlock's and they stared at each other. He had dark eyes, darker than Sherlock would have thought possible, and something about the way the sunlight caught them made them look surreal, as if the boy could see something everyone else couldn't.

The teacher watched them look at each other for a moment before saying, "Sherlock, I would like you to meet James. James, Sherlock." She glanced at them both again. "I'll leave you two to it then," she said, before disappearing off to check up on the other children.

Finally, Sherlock broke the stare and instead focused on the rest of the boy, James, the teacher had said. He was wearing a red shirt and some worn out grey jeans that were covered in rips and patches. His black second hand shoes were getting holes near the toes where the fabric had worn out and his shoelaces didn't match. But the boy didn't seem to mind, so neither did Sherlock.

Sherlock picked his way over fallen flower petals and crab apples to where the boy was perched. "May I come up?" he asked. The boy shrugged, moving over a bit on the branch while still keeping his hands firmly cupped together around whatever he was holding. Sherlock smiled his thanks before setting about climbing up the branches. It wasn't hard, Sherlock had climbed trees enough times with Mycroft in the field behind their estate to know what to use as handholds and steps. Soon he was sitting next to the other boy who had watched his climb with mild interest. He stuck out a hand, it was only the polite thing to do, "I'm Sherlock," he said proudly.

The other boy looked down at Sherlock's hand and then back at his already occupied ones. He gave Sherlock and apologetic smile,"I'm James, but everyone ca... well, I like to be called Jim," he said in a rather high pitched Irish accent.

"Nice to meet you Jim," he paused for a moment before adding, "what are you holding?" He had been dying to know, Mycroft had always said he couldn't resist a mystery. Jim hesitated a moment before pulling apart his fingers a bit so Sherlock could see inside. His eyes widened when he saw what Jim had caught, fluttering pathetically in his hands was a small butterfly. It had yellow dusty wings and, no, wait, there was only one wing, where had the other one gone? A quick glance at Jim told him all he needed to know. The dark haired boy was watching the thing flail helplessly with great interest, his eyes lighting up when it started trying to flip itself over.

"Does it bother you?" Jim looked at Sherlock expectantly.

Sherlock scoffed. "No," he had a huge collection of butterflies and other insects at home, all neatly pinned in frames. He'd spent hours admiring them, memorizing the different names and species. Sherlock loved butterflies, they were so fascinatingly complex and elegant for something so simple.

The butterfly was spinning itself in circles now in an attempt to regain its footing, eventually going limp. Bored, Jim unclasped his hands, watching as the butterfly fluttered helplessly to the ground, joining the cluster of white petals already surrounding the base of the tree. He turned back to Sherlock, smiling, "I think we're going to get along just fine." The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched as he stared at his new friend.


End file.
